Angel of Discord
by I'm Always a Slut for Cecilos
Summary: Nothing about this man was natural. But maybe that was what intrigued him; the mystery, like a puzzle waiting to be solved. But he couldn't love him. He was an angel of Hell, for God's sake. Nothing about this was natural. But then again, natural was not something Dean Winchester concerned himself with.
1. Chapter 1

**(Pre-note: I got the idea for this AU from a tumblr post [I can't be bothered to find it, sorry], but I'm hoping I can make this one pretty decent.**

**Also, I can only update once a week to once every two weeks because of school and rehearsals, so I can't get to a computer much, save for weekends.**

**I'm also very sorry for any canon I misinterpreted/left out, because I haven't gone through and watched many episodes quite yet, but if there's something really obvious I missed, feel free to PM me and let me know.)**

* * *

Chapter One: My Pride and Joy

Everything had become a blur of the same old, same old: quiet cafes, shitty motel rooms, cases, near-death experiences, driving the Impala towards a new case with Sammy. Repeat. Details changed -the pattern on the motel room walls, the monster they had to defeat, the subject of the arguments between him and Sam-, but nothing ever really _changed_. But what Dean didn't know, realize or predict at that time, was that in the next few months of his life, he would look back on his boring yet so exciting, messed up, blur of a lifestyle, and he would miss it.

Dean and Sam were sitting in a motel -this one had polka dots in bright blue and red-, paging through dusty books and scrolling through websites. They were looking for information on a possible demonic presence in Chelsea, Wisconsin, a town with a population of only about seven hundred fifty residents. People were mysteriously dying of supposed animal attacks, three so far. "But all of the vics were inside, and none of them owned any animals," Sam had said as they munched on some funny-tasting fast-food tacos. "And there have been some freak electrical storms lately, along with tons of other omens." Dean nodded, only half paying attention.

Now, as Dean sat in front of the laptop screen, scrolling tiredly through some crack website about 'demonic deals', chin resting in the palm of his hand, his mind was half occupied with the cute waitress at the cafe they had gone to for breakfast that morning. He stumbled upon something that actually managed to get his attention and he sat up, blinking the tiredness away. "Hey, Sam," he said, nudging his brother next to him, "this website says that if a person makes a deal with a crossroads demon, after a set amount of time, the hounds of hell come and drag you into the pit."

"That would explain the animal attacks," Sam said, also returning to life, "think it's our monster?"

"Maybe," he said. He added a tab and started looking into it more. Not long after, he nodded. "Sounds like it. Stories of dealing with demons at the price of your soul goes back forever, and a lot of the lore has the same thing in common. Listen to this: 'When a mortal strikes a deal with a demon of hell," he read, "his soul has been marked, and upon the expiration of ten years, savage beasts of the devil come to take the marked soul into the pits of hell to suffer for his sins.'"

"So you think these people are selling their souls, and hounds are coming to collect?" Sam asked. Dean nodded. "How about you look for some way to gank these bitches, I'll go take another look around our latest cadaver's house." Sam nodded, pulling the laptop over to him as Dean pulled on his coat and went out the door.

The older Winchester made his way to the Impala, but couldn't help but feel he was being watched. With a cautious glance around, he saw nothing, and -after making sure his pistol was tucked safely into his waistband-, got into the driver's seat and purred softly out of the parking lot.

Dean had been being watched; in fact, the two Winchesters hadn't had a moment of solitarity since they arrived in Chelsea. A man with dark hair and blue eyes had been watching them, silent, from the shadows. As he watched the older one leave, he squinted slightly, before disappearing without a noise. He would need to know his next move, and to know his next move, he would have to consult his father.

* * *

The next day, Sam put on his suit to speak to the coroners, and the older brother was to dig up as much information about their dead people as they could. They split up: Sam to the coroner, Dean to the library to look through newspaper articles and town records. They had played rock, paper, scissors, and Dean had lost. Off to the musty, awkwardly silent room he went.

After pawing through a few books of town records -not a lot had happened in such a small place- and newspaper articles, he found something: four people had mysteriously become extremely well off, all around the same time, circa ten years ago. One had gotten a large amount of inheritance from a late grandmother he didn't know he had, another had gotten accepted to Harvard, and the third -the latest corpse to have surfaced- had become engaged to some B-List celebrity while on a vacation to Hollywood. The final one who was yet to die was a guy who had suddenly built and moved into a large house on the outskirts of the city. He was about to call Sam to report his findings, and spotted someone watching him slightly from the bookshelves.

He stood up, casually making his way over to the guy. The stalker turned his head, trying to make it look like he was suddenly very interested in the book in his hands.

"Hey, take a picture, it might last you longer," Dean said, not too kindly as he leaned against his arm which rested on the bookshelf. The man didn't speak yet, only looked up at him, striking blue eyes boring into his green ones. Dean quirked his eyebrows briefly, trying to signal him to say something, -to do anything, really-, to keep them from just sharing awkward eye contact. Dean was the first to break, looking down at the outfit the other guy was wearing. A long tan trench coat over a normal black two-piece suit with a blue tie loose around his neck.

"I don't have any need for a photograph of you, Dean Winchester," he finally said. Dean recognized an accent -British or something- and looked back up at him, his right hand reaching behind him to get the demon knife out of his waistband, though he didn't brandish it quite yet.

"How do you know who I am?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"I know many things, both about you and your brother," he replied simply. As soon as he brought Sam into the conversation, Dean's protective brother instincts started tingling and he brought out his knife, careful to make sure that the other guy was the only one to see it.

"Who are you, then?" he asked quietly. His eyebrow quirked briefly as he disappeared in a flash of a sound that resembled wings. Dean blinked, eyes wide and he looked around. No one appeared alarmed, so he assumed no one had seen. He tucked the knife away and quickly returned to the table with all his research on it. He left, already calling Sam.

"Find anything?" Sam asked as he picked up.

"Yeah," Dean said quickly, "but there's something else. Some guy was watching me in the library, he knew who I was, and who you were. And he disappeared."

"You think he was a demon?" Sam asked.

"I dunno man," he said as he got into the Impala and turned the keys, starting the engine, "sure as hell seems like it. Why would a demon be stalking me though?"

"Maybe they're trying to keep us from interfering with the hell hounds?"

"Yeah, maybe," he said as he drove back towards the motel, "but something weird is definitely goin' on."

* * *

They managed to figure out where the next target was going to be by midnight: a guy named Henry Basett at his mansion in the middle of nowhere. They found the guy in a fetal position in his kitchen. Sam and Dean rushed to him, Dean started to put salt in a circle around them and on all the doors and windows. Sam tried to comfort the panicking man, who was screaming about enormous hounds chasing him around. The front door started shaking like something was beating against it, and Henry was sobbing out: "The barks! They're so loud!" Sam and Dean stood in the circle with him, guns up, even though they weren't sure how they'd kill the hell hound. Just as Dean was certain that the door would shoot off its hinges, everything fell deathly silent. Henry sat up, looking around with eyes wide as saucers. The door handle turned and Sam and Dean watched it, petrified. It opened and a man came walking -no, sauntering- in. He was in a suit with a red tie. He was older, with a receding hairline and a stocky build. He smiled and patted the air, as if there were a dog there, only it would have been up to his hip.

"Down, Juliet, I think we've scared them enough."

"Who the hell-" Sam began to say, but the older man cut him off.

"Crowley, at your service," he introduced, smiling.

"You're a demon," Dean said, not as a question, more as a statement of fact.

"That I am," he said simply, "I'm the demonic tax collector around these parts." He had a definite British or Scottish accent -high end Scotts, maybe?- and Dean was vaguely reminded of the demon in the library the other day.

"Are you the one who sent your little devil minion to the library?" Dean asked. Crowley chuckled.

"Devil minion?" he mused, "minion, maybe, but devil? Not even close. Castiel," he called out the door, "come in here a moment." The same blue-eyed, dark haired man, about the same age as Dean came in, staring intently at the older Winchester.

"Allow me to introduce Castiel to you," Crowley said, "My son, angel of darkness... and if I play my cards right, future prince of hell." Lightning suddenly flashed and dark shadows of wings were cast against the wall, seeming to come from Castiel's back. Crowley smiled slightly and tightened his son's tie, who gave a sour look. "He's my pride and joy."

**[A/N: Yeah, obviously I skipped over a bunch of story-time, because AU and it's easier that way. Anyway thanks for reading :D]**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Can't a Demon be a Daddy?

_"__Allow me to introduce Castiel to you," Crowley said, "My son, angel of darkness... and if I play my cards right, future prince of hell." Lightning suddenly flashed and dark shadows of wings were cast against the wall, seeming to come from Castiel's back. Crowley smiled slightly and tightened his son's tie, who gave a sour look. "He's my pride and joy."_

* * *

Dean and Sam exchanged a confused and completely indignant look. It was weird enough that there was a 'King of Hell' (even if it wasn't an official title yet, according to Crowley), let alone that he had a son. _Let alone_ that his son was an angel. It wasn't natural. Not that anything the two Winchesters ever encountered was natural.

"Hang on a sec," Dean said, returning his gaze to the two across the room. "Angels aren't real. And if they were, they wouldn't work for hell."

"Why not?" Crowley replied simply, "Can't a demon be a daddy?"

"No!" he exclaimed, "they can't! Demons don't care about anyone, so why and how would they raise a kid?"

"Well, you see, Dean, it's a little something called the birds and the bees," he said with an amused smile.

"Oh shut up," Dean replied, "Sammy, please tell me you have an exorcism in your head somewhere." Sam nodded and started speaking it.

_"Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino_-" Crowley cut him off.

"Spare it, will you? Or I'll leave Cas here. Salt won't keep him out, I assure you." Sam sent his brother a questioning look, and Dean shook his head, telling him to stop.

"What do you want?" Sam asked.

"Nothing much. Aside from the soul of that poor sniveling bastard, I mostly just wanted to meet you two in person. You're awfully famous downstairs." Sam squinted suspiciously. That would explain how Castiel knew about them. The angel was still staring intently at Dean, and he had loosened his tie again shortly after Crowley tightened it. Dean gave Cas an uncomfortable stare back, but broke contact and instead looked at Crowley. He could still feel the blue eyes on him though.

"Yeah, you're big fans, I'm sure," Dean said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, the biggest, especially Cassie," Crowley said, matching his tone. "We've got all the trading cards."

"Well, you're not getting an autograph, sorry, and you're definitely not getting this guy's soul."

"Oh really? You'd interfere with a business deal? He sold his soul, you can't cheat the tax collectors."

"Yeah, we'd interfere with a deal. You probably conned him out of it. He probably didn't know what he was getting into," Sam accused.

"Oh he did, I made sure to make the rules and regulations very clear. See, I may be a demon, but I _always _keep my word. In my business, we have a thing called integrity. I'm not sure you uneducated apes understand the term, or any of its synonyms."

"You're not in a position to patronize us," Dean snapped.

"Says the one cowering in the salt circle," he tossed back without missing a beat. Dean took a long time -too long- to think of a comeback, and Crowley continued with his monologue. He looked around, seemingly bored, waving a hand lightly.

"I'll make you boys a deal," he said simply, "you give me little Henry there, I'll let you two go with your limbs still attached to your bodies."

"No way in hell," Dean said, defensively raising his knife. The crossroads demon rolled his eyes and nodded to Castiel. The angel approached them, stepping over the salt line with no trouble and with a wave of his hand, Dean and Sam were slammed against the wall, both giving a groan as air rushed from their bodies. They watched, unable to move, as Cas swept the salt aside and Crowley patted the air beside him. "Sick him, Juliet," he said. There was a bark and Henry started screaming. He was dragged into another room by something that the Winchesters could not see and he continued to scream until he was silenced by the hellhound. Bloody pawprints made their way across the room and Crowley knelt. It appeared he was being licked by the dog as he said "good girl, you get a treat when we get home." He straightened and turned his gaze to the Winchesters as he fixed his suit.

"I'll see you boys later, I'm sure," he said, "Come along, Castiel." He left the house, and after a moment more of staring, Cas turned and followed. Once they were gone, Dean and Sam were dropped to the floor. In the other room, they found the mangled body of Henry Basett. Deciding it would be best to leave the body as it was, Sam and Dean quickly returned to the motel in silence, both deep in thought of what had happened. Dean couldn't keep the way Castiel was staring at him out of his mind. There was something in his eyes that Dean had never seen before, and he couldn't place or identify it. They checked out of the motel and started out across the road, not wanting to stay in Chelsea any longer.

They shared their findings with Bobby, and he hadn't ever seen or heard of anything like it either. "I'm just as surprised about it as you," he had said, "and _angels?_ Somethin' doesn't seem right here."

"Yeah, that's for friggin' sure," Dean had agreed.

* * *

It was months before Dean saw Cas again, though Cas had seen him nearly every time they went on a case. One night while he was asleep -he and Sam were hunting some witches in Boise-, Dean woke up suddenly from a nightmare and saw blue eyes staring in from the window. He sat up and turned on the light, hand immediately going to his pistol, but Cas had gone. He pulled on a shirt and went outside into the cool night air. The bushes to his left rustled.

"Alright, asshole, I know you're peeping on me, what the hell do you want?" There was a long silence before Castiel emerged. Dean blinked a moment, taken aback. The angel seemed almost sheepish at having been caught.

"I was hoping you wouldn't see me," he said simply.

"Yeah, well I did. What do you want?"

"Nothing from you," he replied. He frowned and picked a leaf off of his coat sleeve, setting it aflame and watching it burn. He didn't flinch when the flames licked his fingers. Dean stared, entranced, despite himself.

"Then what are you watching us for?" Cas didn't seem to hear him at first, but finally he looked up at him. There wasn't a moon out tonight, but his eyes seemed to glow ever so slightly, almost from the inside.

"It's my job." Dean narrowed his eyes. Of course. Crowley wanted to keep an eye on them for some reason- to discover their weaknesses or something.

"Your job? What, you intern for Crowley?"

"I do as my father asks," he explained. Dean looked around. The cold was starting to bite at his hands and nose, and he wanted to return to bed, though he couldn't until he was sure Cas had gone.

"Why?"

"Because he is my father and my future king." Sounded like a robot. Not a lot of free will in this one, huh? Dean rolled his eyes.

"Right, well, can you lay off maybe? I don't feel comfortable sleeping when you're out here doing God knows what while watching." Cas squinted and it looked almost as though the mention of God irritated him.

"I... I suppose," he said, though it sounded more like a question than anything. Dean sighed, admittedly relieved.

"Thanks, I guess." He turned as there was the sound of wings and went back inside, being careful not to wake Sammy. Dean lay awake for a few minutes, unsure what to think. He'd have to talk to Sam about this eventually... but maybe not yet. He didn't exactly know what he'd say, at any rate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Pre-Note: I'm going to make this even more AU and no one can stop me. Just a warning.**

Chapter Three: Bad Little Angel, Gone and Lost His Way

_Dean lay awake for a few minutes, unsure what to think. He'd have to talk to Sam about this eventually... but maybe not yet. He didn't exactly know what he'd say, at any rate._

* * *

Castiel sat in some dusty corner of his father's large mansion with a book in his hands, humming some tune -the origins of which were lost to him in the huge memory bank he kept- and flipping through the pages. He hated it there. Sure, it was big and fancy and he had plenty of places to be alone, but dealing with Crowley, and his demonic friends and being on _Earth_. It was tiring. He got restless easily. He didn't like being idle. He loved to read, but he could at most muster a chapter or two in one sitting. But Crowley had gotten weary of how much the two Winchesters were noticing him, and a higher up demon called Azazel was noticing them as well, and Crowley would rather avoid a confrontation with him, seeing as it would throw a huge spanner into his plans. The yellow-eyed demon was planning something, though what, he had no clue. He sighed, shutting the book and stared out the dark window. There was no moon tonight, so the area outside the circle of light from the window was black. He squinted, thinking for a split second that he saw something move in the darkness. He stood, leaving the room and then the house to investigate.

He stood in the faint glow of the porch-light for a moment, looking around. He wasn't worried, he could easily kill anything that came at him, human or otherwise.

"Who's there?" he called, "Andria, is that you?" Andria was one of the demonic hands Crowley kept around. There was no reply, but Castiel's head whipped to the side as he saw something move from the corner of his eye. He narrowed his eyes. "I know you're out there," he said, "come out, and I may not kill you slowly." Again, only silence returned to him. He stepped out of the light, into the dewed grass and saw a wisp of movement disappear around the side of the house. He flew to the corner and for a moment, he saw a small figure at the end of the house, staring back at him with golden eyes. It disappeared before he could see its face, and then two arms were wrapping around him, holding his arms to his torso with unnatural strength- even compared to the angel.

"Wha-?" he shouted, struggling.

"Do not battle with me, brother," a voice said to him quietly, "I don't want to hurt you." The voice came to him from a few inches below his ear, meaning that his assailant was shorter than he was.

"What are you?" Castiel demanded, continuing to thrash in an attempt to move from his grasp.

"Someone whom you don't remember," the voice replied. He was let go and Cas whirled, facing the other, but froze as he saw that he had a silver knife poised to kill. The only thing that could kill an angel...

"You're an angel?" Cas asked, squinting. He had golden wings, and six of them. Huge, sprawling as they unfolded from his back. The man didn't relax, but he nodded. His golden eyes seemed to glow.

"Not just any angel, kiddo," he said with a small grin, "Gabriel." The name sparked some kind of memory, but Cas found it difficult to bring it forward so he could think about why the name was so familiar. Of course he knew who Gabriel was, an archangel, one of God's favorites. But it wasn't jiust that. It was something else, some other kind of emotional response, though he couldn't figure out the cause.

"Gabriel," he repeated, for lack of anything else to say. "What are you doing here, and how did you find me? We're warded."

"I have my ways," the archangel said vaguely.

"What do you want, then?" he replied.

"I just want to talk," he said, "although I'd prefer it if it were in a safer place, and I didn't have to hold this against you the whole time."

"Where would we go?" he asked, watching the angelic knife closely.

"I know some safe places," he said simply, "come on." He extended a hand so he could fly them there. Cautiously, the agent of hell did so, and in a moment -though if he had really wanted to, Cas could have perceived it- they were outside a small cafe somewhere in Chicago. Gabriel waved his hand and the knife disappeared, though it was obviously just on another plain of existance, still there but invisible. He led Cas inside and they were seated in a booth in the back. Cas sat across from Gabriel, watching him with a suspicious yet curious look.

"I'm here, what is it you are so intent on talking to be about?" Castiel asked with more than a hint of annoyance.

"You," Gabriel replied simply. He smiled up at the pretty waitress who came to take their orders and he asked for a slice of chocolate cake, Cas waving off the question for food. As she left, Gabriel's focus shifted from her retreating ass and back to him. "You're an angel, Castiel, and this 'prince of hell' business has gone on far too long."

"I am Crowley's son," he said with some distaste, "angel or not. Although I do not particularly care for the title, and I am no more an angel of heaven than you are a demon of hell." The dirty-blond haired angel frowned slightly.

"You don't remember heaven, do you Castiel?" he asked quietly. It wasn't a sad tone, it was more of a morbid acceptance.

"I was raised in hell from my fledgling years, of course I don't." Cas didn't look a Gabriel. He felt strangely guilty- in fact, he was feeling so many emotions he didn't understand in the least.

"But you weren't born there," Gabriel said, barely audible. "You were born in heaven, and in heaven you belong. You have a job to do, Castiel, duties to perform, and you can't do that by helping Crowley."

"He is my father, I am loyal to him as you are to 'God'." Castiel felt himself getting more and more elated, for reasons he didn't understand. He hated the sad look in Gabriel's eyes, someone regarding him with an almost brotherly attitude, someone Castiel had never even met. He stood up.

"Don't look for me again, Gabriel," he snapped, glaring angrily, "I refuse to have these heretic thoughts place into my mind!" Without another word -only a wounded look from Gabriel- he disappeared and back to Crowley's house, making sure to place extra seals and report this 'inside source' he apparently had to his father.

When he was done, he sat against a wall, staring at the lines in the wood as his mind raced. He was searching his brain for any explanation as to why Gabriel made him feel how he did, and why it felt as though they were old friends.


End file.
